


unrationed

by phenomenology



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: "i've seen you", Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood and Injury, Colors, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking, F/F, First Kiss, Flowers, Healing, Hospitals, Music, Nightmares, Rain, Sleepovers, Snippets, Soulmates, Thunder and Lightning, Truth or Dare, Vignette, Wings, beauyashaweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phenomenology/pseuds/phenomenology
Summary: my collection of prompts for beauyasha week 2020!prompt one: first kissprompt two: flowersprompt three: modern auprompt four: waiting/listening for thunder/lightningprompt five: healingprompt six: "i've seen you"prompt seven: free form
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 59
Kudos: 273





	1. your lips are gold and i have never been rich

**Author's Note:**

> here we go!!! let's go lesbians!!!

“I’m just saying,” Beau drawled, hands waving a lazy gesture in the air above her from where her head was pillowed against Yasha’s thigh. “I think it’s a lame idea.”

“What part of making a shop explode is lame to you?” Veth shrieked as Jester cackled beside the Halfling.

“Every part!” Beau insisted. “If you’re going to go through the trouble of picking locks to break in and take shit, commit to the level of badass sneaking we all know you’re capable of and leave no evidence behind. Not burn down the whole damn place to erase evidence! That’s just lazy!”

“Your inner criminal is showing through,” Veth shot back, no heat behind her words.

“I’m just saying, in this hypothetical scenario of a perfect crime, I probably have the most experience.”

“Oh, you absolutely do,” Jester giggled.

“How did we even get on this topic?” Veth asked through a laugh, leaning against the foot of the bed from where they were all sprawled on the floor.

“I asked you if you had ever robbed a store when you said you wanted ‘truth’ and then it went downhill from there,” Jester offered, matching Veth’s position.

They had ended up in Yasha’s room in the Xhorhouse that evening, since her chambers sat in the middle of all the girls’ rooms. Yasha had made a quiet remark about a sleepover, and Veth and Jester had jumped at the chance of a ladies’ night. Especially since the last time they got to have one had been back when they got their tattoos, and Yasha had been absent. Somehow, they had gotten into a game of truth or dare. Beau unearthing a bottle of liquor they had picked up in their travels not long after only added fuel to the fire.

Beau and Yasha were properly tipsy, Jester abstaining as usual and Veth had, with reluctance, stayed sober. Jester was quick to make the two of them some variation of warm milk with chocolate melted into it, so they at least had something to nurse alongside their friends. The evening had only progressed from there, Beau tipping sideways once they were halfway done with the bottle to lay her head against Yasha’s leg. The Aasimar hadn’t protested, merely tensing up for a heartbeat before relaxing again, her back propped against the wall from her place on the floor.

“Well,” Veth said after a long pull at her chocolate drink. “I get to choose now. So…Beau! Truth or dare?”

Having seen this coming, Beau let out a long suffering groan, feigning a put-upon expression. Once satisfied with her dramatics, she flashed a dangerous grin in response to Veth’s mischievous, sparkling eyes.

“Dare.”

Jester bounced in her spot and made a dramatic noise as her bright eyes flicked between Beau and Veth eagerly.

“I dare you to run up the side of the house, stand on the roof, and yell as loud as you can!”

Beau burst into tipsy laughter, clutching her stomach and tossing her head back against Yasha’s thigh. Jester collapsed into giggles as Veth egged Beau on over the chorus of amusement. She insisted that it would be easy for Beau to do, considering the monk had run up a tree that was hundreds of feet tall with relative ease. Beau knew that she could do it, but it was the mental image of doing so that caused her hilarity.

Opening her eyes from where laughter had squeezed them shut, Beau pulled in a breath through her giggles, intending to tell Veth that she would do it. Only, she found herself stuck, breathless where the air caught in her throat. When she opened her eyes, she found Yasha staring down at her, a tiny smile curling up the corners of the Aasimar’s lips with fondness. Her mismatched eyes twinkled in the dim light, braided hair cascading down over one shoulder and looking every bit the celestial Beau knew was in her heritage.

Feeling heat rush to her cheeks, Beau abruptly sat up. She only just avoided a collision of foreheads with Yasha and hopped to her feet.

“Yep! I’m gonna go do it!” Beau declared, sounding every bit as flustered as she felt, before darting from Yasha’s room. The other three went out to the balcony to watch, waiting for Beau to come around the back of the house to run up it. They were serious about this game.

As Beau jogged down the stairs and out to the back of the house, she tried to take a couple deep breaths. She might manage to pass off the flush in her cheeks as being alcohol related, but everyone knew her tolerance was better than that. The monk never got this warm until she was properly drunk. Perhaps if she was still flush after this, she could claim exertion, but that would make it seem like she had horrid endurance. Beau would rather eat her robes than make herself seem weak.

Standing off to the side of the balcony, she waved in response to Jester and Veth’s hoots and whistles. (If their neighbors hadn’t hated them before, they would now.)

Bouncing on the balls of her feet a couple times, Beau took a few steps back and then launched into a running start. Pushing off the ground, her feet made contact with the side of the house just above the first-floor windows, and she kept her momentum going from there. Finding footholds against the panes and using them to launch herself higher and higher, Beau eventually scrambled over the edge of the roof and perched herself among the shingles. Peering over the edge, seeing only by the light of the moon since she had forgotten her goggles, Beau waved to the three occupants on the balcony. Hearing Veth and Jester’s cheers, Beau pulled back and went to stand near the center of the roof, feeling the mild breeze brushing past her cheeks.

It was so peaceful up here. (Their neighbors were about to hate them even more.)

Beau used to do this as a bitter teenager, climb up to the roof of a random building, or her home. Sometimes she even braved the nearby hills of Kamordah and just _yelled_. She had found it was a suitable way to let out frustration when she wasn’t feeling particularly self-destructive. It had admittedly been a while since she felt the need to do something like this. But things had been rather tense as of late regarding their responsibilities to the Empire and the Dynasty.

She also thought about Jester and the complex, fading emotions she had for the Tiefling. Beau thought about Yasha smiling with quiet affection down at her, and the complicated, twisting mass of feelings their whole situation was.

Beau _screamed_.

Long and loud and uninterrupted until her lungs ached to draw in a breath. Voice cutting off, she sucked in a hurried gasp and forcibly refrained from letting out a second scream. That first one had been more than enough. And as chaotic as she liked to be sometimes, it was with abrupt and acute awareness that Beau remembered the neighborhood they were in. Someone might call the guards, alarms might rise if they thought the city was being attacked. That was attention the Mighty Nein did not need right now.

Embarrassed, but feigning smug triumph, Beau nimbly worked her way off the roof and down to the balcony. Jester and Veth greeted her with enthusiastic cheers and peals of laughter. Yasha seemed rather amused, but her joviality had always been quieter than most.

It didn’t take long after that for Jester to peter out into yawns, having worn herself down even more with laughter when Fjord, Caleb, and Caduceus had come bursting into Yasha’s room. Their frantic expressions had sent Jester and Veth rolling with cackled laughter. Beau and Yasha had found it amusing too, but explained that they were fine and apologized for the disturbance. Caduceus had left with a good-natured smile and went back to bed, Fjord grumbling after him. Caleb had stuck around for another few minutes to make sure everything was truly fine.

Veth, likely feeling a little bad for spooking Caleb, left not long after Jester started yawning, stating that she was getting tired. Usually Veth would share a room with Yeza, but the Halfling’s husband was in Nicodranas. Beau would bet money she ended up at the foot of Caleb’s bed.

“Are you going to bed, Beau?” Jester asked, stifling a yawn as she did. The Tiefling stood by the door to Yasha’s room, their own right beside it. But the gesture of Jester waiting and making sure Beau would sleep was still a sweet one.

“Yeah, Jess,” Beau assured her friend, smiling. “Yash and I are just going to finish this bottle first. Don’t wait up, okay?”

Smiling at the pair still sprawled beside each other on the floor, Jester waved a sleepy goodnight to them and shut the door as she left. For a decent stretch of quiet, Yasha and Beau merely passed the liquor bottle back and forth between them, not saying much of anything. Usually Beau would try to fill silence like this, but she found herself rather content. There was no awkward weight between them like there had been when their group first rallied together. It was a pleasant development, one Beau acknowledged to herself with satisfaction.

“Thank you,” Yasha broke their quiet, pulling Beau’s gaze away from where she had been staring at the floorboards. “This was nice.”

“Yeah, of course,” Beau said, pausing to take a swig, wincing at the burn before passing the bottle to Yasha. “Anytime.”

“I feel like I am getting better,” Yasha confessed in that soft voice of hers after taking a long pull from the bottle. “But some nights it’s still hard to…uh…relax. Especially on my own.”

A little surprised by the confession, Beau turned her head fully towards Yasha and observed the Aasimar’s profile. There was a little moonlight filtering in through the balcony doors, and Beau felt her breath catch in her chest as the silver seemed to make Yasha’s pale skin glow. Any sense of balance she had gained back from earlier fled.

“Yeah,” Beau said, eloquent as always. “Yeah, no…I get it. I mean, uh, not in the way that you—I mean. Fuck.”

Yasha was watching her now, brows pulled together a little with confusion. Beau could feel her cheeks heating and she cursed herself out in her head. Way to fucking ruin a moment.

“I just mean that I get it—the not being able to fall asleep on your own thing.” She was loath to admit it, because Beau liked to portray herself as someone who was independent, who could cut ties at any moment and be entirely unaffected. Though, she had shown her hand a few weeks ago, telling her friends she hated her past because it didn’t have the Mighty Nein in it, that she felt she was a better person for having met them, that she liked who she was with them. But despite that, Beau wanted to think of herself as someone who could find rest without the sound of at least one other person breathing nearby. She wanted people to believe that she could hold her own, despite how much stronger she felt alongside all her friends.

And she didn’t know why she was still _lying_ to herself, because deep down she knew they had irrevocably changed her.

Which was the exact opposite of a bad thing. But Beau had spent so long being _alone_ and needing others to believe that she was fine that way that sometimes she still fell into old patterns of behavior.

“We could do this more often,” Yasha’s quiet offer yanked Beau back to herself, looking over to the Aasimar again. She felt wildly disoriented, blinking owlishly at the other woman. “If it helps you, too.”

Why had Beau confessed that?

But did it matter? Yasha didn’t seem to mind or think her weaker for it. And hell, if Yasha—a big, badass, intimidating, powerful warrior—could admit to being scared, then why couldn’t Beau?

“Yeah,” Beau murmured. “I think that would be nice.”

Yasha was staring at Beau and, caught in an invisible orbit, Beau stared back. The silence pulled, and Beau let it. She had never found an affinity for magic, never learned how to cast spells and never cared to try. But she knew what it felt like because her friends cast spells on her all the time. Magic—at least their magic—was warm, encompassing, and familiar.

Being stuck in Yasha’s mismatched stare felt much the same way.

It left her giddy and just shy of breathless.

“I would like to kiss you,” Yasha whispered.

“I’d like you to,” Beau heard herself answer before she even thought about it. She had thought so much about Yasha, about how complicated things could be between them for a variety of reasons. But at this moment, it was so uncomplicated that Beau could do nothing but bask in it.

Having Yasha’s lips pressed against her own felt nothing short of unequivocally right. There was no explosion of emotion, no puzzle pieces fitting together, no stars or rush in Beau’s veins. They had already fit together months ago, their emotions had already built and this was just a cement to hold the bricks in place. This was a soft embrace, a quiet affirmation that tasted a little too much of Dwendalian liquor. It was soft and careful for all that they were both composed of jagged edges.

This was far from Beau’s first kiss, and she knew the same was true for Yasha. But it was _their_ first kiss, and Beau could only hope that it wouldn’t be their last. There were still a lot of things they should talk about, emotions to lay bare between them. But they were patient with each other, and Beau was more than willing to wait. She could carry the memory of Yasha’s lips on her own like a token from a lover.

They pulled apart, and Beau opened her eyes—she thought it rather cliché that she hadn’t remembered closing them—to stare at Yasha. The Aasimar was watching her, quiet and still. Where Yasha usually looked impassive, there was something vulnerable and almost happy lining the edges of her face. Beau felt a quiet thrill in her chest at being the one to put that expression there.

She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t ruin the moment. Before she could second-guess herself, Beau merely leaned in and left one more chaste, quick kiss to Yasha’s lips. Pressing the bottle of liquor into Yasha’s hands, Beau pulled her feet under herself and gave the Aasimar a genuine smile.

“That was nice,” she murmured. _Don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up. For once in your life, Beau, don’t spoil a good thing._ “I’ll see you in the morning?”

For all she was certain that Yasha would still be there when morning came without a sunrise, it still sounded like a question. Yasha gave Beau a smile, the one already on her face curling just a little wider. Most would take Beau’s departure as an untoward sign, but Yasha had always understood Beau better than most. She knew this was Beau giving Yasha room to breathe, to process—this was Beau giving herself room to process. It was a promise to revisit a topic that needed addressing at a later time when they had both had a moment to themselves.

“Yes,” Yasha said, fingers curling over Beau’s around the bottle between them. “Sleep well.”

Beau went to sleep that night in her shared room with Jester. Her heart was singing in her chest and her lips buzzed with the memory of the weight of Yasha against them. Not her first kiss, but theirs that tasted like liquor and a promise.


	2. if i could name every flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vignettes in no particular order for the flowers yasha gives to beau

_bluebells (hyacinthoides non-scripta) – constancy_

Thunder rumbles around the house, deep and sonorous, and Yasha feels it in her bones.

She has the balcony doors thrown open, propped in place with rocks she lugged down from the rooftop garden. There isn’t much change in lighting over Rosohna, the magical darkness replaced by the hanging cloud layer spread across the city. It had surprised Yasha and the others that it rained here, but they supposed the city needed to get their water from somewhere.

Either way, Yasha enjoys the heavy humidity in the air, the promise of rain on the horizon. Even if the storm doesn’t call her away, it draws her in. She’s not scared of the lightning and embraces the drizzle of rain on her skin as she stretches a hand out of the open doors. It reminds her she’s safe.

A loud roll of thunder follows seconds behind a distant flash, ominous and ear-splitting. Yasha smiles as the windows rattle.

Seconds later, the rain pours, splashing only a little against Yasha where she sits just inside the open balcony doors. The sheets of rain slant away from the opening, so she stays relatively dry. The grey stone of her veranda turns dark and slick in seconds.

The quiet peace hangs.

Her bedroom door bangs open. Yasha doesn’t startle, but twists quickly to look over her shoulder, fingers stretching to reach for her blade where it lays nearby.

Beau stands in the doorway, disheveled and wild-eyed, half awake. Yasha’s reach falls slack as she takes in the monk’s appearance.

“Beau?” Frantic blue eyes flash in the dim and find Yasha’s, and the Aasimar can see the tension release from Beau’s muscles through the dim. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Beau manages, taking a moment to fuss with her clothing so it isn’t so rumpled. It surprises Yasha to see the monk’s hair is down, loose from the intricate topknot Beau wears near every day. Her hair has gotten long, and when it falls like this—tangled and rumpled from sleep—the undercut Beau sports is near invisible. And lacking most of her vestments, Yasha finds that Beau looks so human her chest aches with…something.

“I just,” Beau’s voice draws Yasha from her musing. “I woke up from the thunder, and I was worried you uh…left.”

It’s easy for Yasha to forget how much they all care sometimes. After losing her wife, and then the circus and Molly, Yasha was hesitant to accept the Mighty Nein as her family—as her tribe. But she had given up that fight months ago, had given in to the urge to see them as people she could not lose. She was used to being the protector, used to people feeling they didn’t have to worry about Yasha because she was big and intimidating and strong.

The Mighty Nein always defied every expectation set on them.

“I am still here,” Yasha promises. “Would you like to watch the storm with me?”

This is how she ends up with Beau slumped sideways, head resting in Yasha’s lap and curled under the blanket from Yasha’s bed. The monk’s fingers tangle in Yasha’s tunic and Yasha’s are combing steady strokes through Beau’s hair. She braids a few strands together for the length of Beau’s hair and then carefully unwinds it to smooth it out again. Beau slumbers on, peaceful, as thunder rumbles overhead and the rain patters against the stone.

She watches Beau’s face for a while instead of the storm, and wonders. She knows that Beau’s life has been uprooted a few too many times, knows from Beau’s own mouth that the monk fears losing them all. Yasha sees the way Beau’s mind works, the way she comes up with plans, then back-up plans, and then a third just to be safe. The monk plays herself off as careless, callous; but she calculates every move she makes and rarely takes chances.

For Beau, nothing is set in stone.

Yasha reaches for her bag, careful not to shift the sleeping human against her leg, and drags it closer. From the deeper recesses of her pack, Yasha frees the only two books that she always carries with her. One is her gift from Molly with flowers pressed between the pages. The other is a book, a gift, handed to her on a quiet night. It’s a manual on flora from across the lands of Wildemount—spanning both the Empire and the Dynasty. Within its pages lay names, appearance, color, and common symbolic meanings to almost any flower one came across. She had had little use of the tome before, but she hoped it could come in handy now.

* * *

A few days after the storm that pulled Beau into Yasha’s room, the Aasimar visited Caduceus’ rooftop garden. She had spent hours pouring over the contents of her book, trying to find the perfect bloom for what she wanted to say. She wasn’t great with words, so Yasha was banking on this gesture being enough.

There had been quite a few flowers that represented the same thing, and it was all very confusing. But after much deliberation, Yasha finally made a choice.

Perusing the array of flowers that Caduceus somehow continued to coax into life, Yasha felt only mild surprise when she found the exact flower she was looking for. It sat nestled between a bush bearing bright yellow buds and what looked to be a rather healthy crop of mushrooms. The stems grew tall and proud until near the top, where it curved over itself like a shepherd’s crook. From the crook, several bell shaped blooms hung clustered around each other. The petals were long and waxy, curling daintily up at the ends to add to the bell like appearance.

They were perfect and beautiful—a rich indigo that Yasha thought suited Beau impeccably.

She had already spoken to Caduceus that morning and had gotten the okay from him and from the Wildmother to pluck the flowers. The Aasimar selected a handful of stems and tied them together with twine—simple but pretty. Carrying the blooms with delicate caution between her hands back down into the house, Yasha stopped at Jester and Beau’s door, knocking softly. Jester had told Yasha earlier that Beau was spending the afternoon going through her journals in the privacy of their room. She hated to interrupt, but Yasha wanted to do this before she lost her courage.

There was a quiet call from inside, and Yasha took it as her cue to enter, peering around the door to meet Beau’s curious gaze. The monk was cross-legged on her bed, papers strewn around her and a few journals flipped open among them. Yasha hadn’t realized how often Beau must stay up to scribble down things about their adventures each day. Maybe she would ask Beau to recount some things to her, just to see what went on in that wonderful head of hers.

“What’s up?” Beau set her notes aside and gave Yasha her attention. Her bright blue eyes flicked down to the flowers that Yasha immediately held out in her direction once the Aasimar had approached the bed. She stared at them for a moment before reaching out with hesitant fingers to take them from Yasha.

“What are these for?” Beau asked, looking every bit as flustered as she sounded.

“You were worried the other night,” Yasha reminded her, fingers twisting together. “About me leaving. These are uh…a promise. That I won’t leave. Uhm…yeah.”

Beau stared at Yasha, and then down at the flowers. Her lips twitched into a smile, and she laughed, soft and endeared. Yasha’s face flushed, her little courage from before long gone in the face of Beau’s smile.

“Thank you, Yasha,” Beau said as she looked back up at the Aasimar, eyes bright. Yasha was a goner.

“Yeah,” she choked out, awkward as ever. “Uhm, yep.” She fled the room, flustered.

And if Jester’s gushing and squealing about the ‘super pretty’ blue flowers in a vase in their room at dinner later made Yasha blush and duck her head, well that was no one’s business but her own.

_purple hyacinth (hyacinthus orientalis) – please forgive me_

Yasha still woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night sometimes. She never woke up screaming, though, so the only one who clued into her disturbed slumber was Caduceus. He had taken one look at her expression that shifted only a few degrees left of neutral, and next thing Yasha knew, she was sitting under the massive tree of their rooftop garden, being handed a cup of tea.

Caduceus didn’t push her—he never did—just sat with her until Yasha started talking.

“I keep having nightmares, of when I almost killed Beau.”

She would wake with an abrupt start, most times sitting bolt upright and sweating profusely. Her fingers would tremble, lacking the strength to even curl into a fist—to wrap around the hilt of her sword. For minutes after waking, Yasha could taste the salt of her tears on her tongue, smell the coppery tang of Beau’s blood. The blood was always the most vivid detail. It always smelled so harsh, always looked like communion wine creeping over the stones of the cathedral floor. But Beau’s blood was not her father’s wine; it did not wash away Yasha’s sins under the eyes of a god she didn’t believe in. It damned her, and it lingered around her even in the waking world.

“Have you apologized?” Caduceus’ gentle timbre tugged Yasha back to the garden. The herbal tea in her hands washed out the metallic scent from her nightmares.

“What?” Yasha croaked, having not registered what the cleric said.

“Have you apologized to Beau for what happened? Not that you have to,” Caduceus tagged on, making Yasha wince. “Your actions were not your own. But sometimes the mind needs to hear forgiveness it believes it needs, to trick it into moving on.”

Staring at the serene Firbolg across from her as he sipped at his tea, Yasha figured he had a point. Though she did not agree with them, the rest of the Nein seemed insistent that everything she did with Obann was not her fault. Realistically, Yasha supposed she understood that—but it was hard to forgive herself for things she remembered doing.

It was worth a shot, though.

* * *

After consulting her book and a well-known flower vendor in the markets of Rosohna, Yasha made her way back toward the house, a small bouquet bundled in her hands. The blooms were lovely, vibrant in their violet hue, the petals waxy and curling in toward one another to make the bushels look fuller. Yasha couldn’t help but to admire them as she walked, tracing reverent fingertips over the delicate flowers.

The seller had mentioned something about a myth behind the origin of the flowers, but Yasha hadn’t been interested in fairytales. The Aasimar cared more about the meaning she had found in her book and asked the vendor to confirm.

Arriving at the house, Yasha hesitated at the walk, her courage suddenly waning.

What if Beau was with someone else and Yasha had to pull her away? She loved her friends, but they were nosy as anything and Yasha didn’t want to handle their curiosity right now. Not when she was trying to apologize to Beau about something that still stung like a vulnerable sore spot.

Fate seemed to be on her side today, though. As Yasha stood outside their house, contemplating the merits of hiding the flowers and waiting until later that night, she heard a noise from around the far side of the house. Following it to the source revealed Beau—alone—working out in the open space of their lawn.

Seizing the opportunity, Yasha made her way over and waited for Beau to notice her. She didn’t have to stand there long before Beau was leaping to her feet to begin another exercise and caught sight of Yasha. Beau visibly brightened, and she opened her mouth to greet the other. Before her nerves crumbled, or she got distracted, Yasha closed the distance between them in a few strides and thrust the purple hyacinth toward Beau.

Blinking, Beau hesitated a moment before taking the bundle from Yasha, offering a confused, “thank you?”

“I got them for you.” _Duh_. “I wanted to apologize, since I haven’t yet, because I uhm…I hurt you pretty bad. And that makes me feel very, very terrible.” Yasha looked down, twisting her fingers together anxiously now that her hands were empty.

Beau looked up from the flowers, confusion written across her features. Yasha saw the moment it clicked. It shocked the Aasimar to realize that the victim could almost forget something so pivotal that left Yasha so gut-wrenchingly guilty. Nightmares plagued her, and Beau had catalogued it as another scar to her multitude and moved on.

Yasha felt a flash of concern for that fact, but she found herself more stunned by that thought than anything.

“Oh, that, pfft,” Beau waved one hand, eyes flicking downward. She fumbled over her words, trying to sound nonchalant but ending up tongue-twisted. “Don’t-don’t worry about it.”

Yasha stood there, brow furrowed. _Don’t worry about it?_ That was _all_ she had been doing for days on end. She had questioned how she would earn back Beau’s trust – but apparently she had never lost it.

“Still,” Yasha managed, trying to save the situation, trying to get Beau to understand that this apology would be good for both of them. She reached out a nervous hand and laid it overtop where Beau’s was wrapped around the bouquet. Giving the flowers a little push closer to the monk, Yasha felt herself blush a little under her war paint.

“I want you to have those, so you know that I am sorry. That I don’t want – nor do I intend to hurt you again.”

Beau stared at Yasha, quiet, before giving her a slow smile and a simple, “okay.”

_sweet william (dianthus barbatus) – grant me one smile_

It had been days since their brief stint in Kamordah, and Beau’s attitude did not improve much. It seemed like it had in brief flashes, but she was forcing false bravado with such obvious tells that it made Yasha’s chest ache.

She loved to see her friends’ smiles, and Beau’s was one of her favorites to witness. The monk looked more her age when she smiled, less tense, less angry at the world. It read like magic to watch Beau’s bitterness fade into the curve of upturned lips, a slight scrunch of her nose, and banished by the twinkle in her eyes.

Yasha knew the exact number of days it had been since she last saw Beau’s genuine smile.

They holed up in Nicodranas for the time being. With Veth’s restoration complete, they were now just killing time until the armada left. Yasha spent a night out on the beach, plucking at her harp and making mindless music. Her thoughts wandered to Beau, knowing that the other woman was spending a decent amount of their downtime on her own.

When she wore out her fixation of her harp, Yasha spent some time by candlelight flipping through her book on flowers in the Chateau’s tavern. Nearly three-quarters of the way through the book, she had found what she was looking for. In the morning, Marion had been kind enough to point her in the market's direction.

Now the Aasimar wandered through the thoroughfare of Nicodranas, eyes scanning. Marion had assured her there would be a vendor selling what Yasha was after. If anyone in all of Nicodranas knew which flowers one could get there, it was Jester’s mother.

It didn’t take long at all for Yasha to find a young half-Elf man hawking his massive array of flora. There were two broad carts on either side of the man, each overflowing with vibrant looking sprouts that immediately drew Yasha’s attention. She stood by one cart, mismatched eyes scanning over the various options, as she waited for the vendor to finish his transaction with another customer.

Reaching out, she brushed her fingers across some brightly colored daisies, smiling to herself.

“Can I help you?” The half-Elf’s voice from near her shoulder drew Yasha’s attention. He looked pleasant enough, but the nervous press of his lips served as a harsh reminder of Yasha’s height and appearance. She told herself to give him a tiny smile, trying to ease the tension.

“Yes, please,” Yasha answered. “I’m looking for something specific.”

* * *

She found Beau near the surf, the monk’s bedroll and backpack a little ways up the sandy slope so they didn’t get caught in the water. The individual in question had stripped off her boots and socks, rolled her pants to just below her knees, and was standing shin deep in the tide. Her back was to the beach, and to Yasha, facing the open ocean and just…standing.

Yasha hated to interrupt her, but she had been sitting by Beau’s things for almost twenty minutes now. She wanted to wait until Beau saw her, but the monk hadn’t moved at all in that time, save for to shift her feet whenever she sunk too much into the wet sand. At this rate, Yasha would be here the rest of the day. That wasn’t an issue, but she wanted to give Beau the flowers before then at least.

Making an executive decision, Yasha tugged off her boots and hiked her pants up, too. Scooping up the cheerful bundle of flowers she had gotten from the vendor in the market, Yasha carefully made her way down the warm sand towards Beau. Her bare feet catalogued the shift from packed, dry grain to the loose, shifting chill of water-soaked sand. The Aasimar took a moment to revel in the sensation, having never experienced this before.

The sounds of her delighted inhale and her feet against the wet sand alerted Beau to her presence. Beau twisted quickly, feet stuck in the shifting sand from where she had sunk to her ankles. She relaxed almost immediately upon realizing it was just Yasha, alarm fading into fond amusement with just the tiniest uptick at the corner of her mouth.

Not a smile—but a start.

“Sorry,” Yasha said, sheepish, shifting closer to Beau. She held out the flowers without preamble and delighted quietly in the pink that dusted the monk’s cheeks as her eyes widened.

“What are these for?” Beau breathed, cupping the bouquet delicately, like it was Frumpkin the One Ounce Owl. Her eyes scanned over the various, vibrant array of pinks that created the miniature bouquet of a flower Yasha learned was called Sweet William. (She wasn’t sure who William was, but Yasha thought he had excellent taste in flowers.) The petals were smooth and delicate, ranging from a deep, almost purple-pink shade to a paler blush color. A few of the blooms sported a white outlining the fringes of their petals, adding a pop of pattern to an otherwise solid color arrangement.

Yasha watched Beau take it in. What once was barely a smirk, was now a full grin. Her lips tugged up at both corners, lips parting to reveal Beau’s teeth as she turned the flowers this way and that to take them in. She realized recently, that while Beau despised wearing the color pink, the monk still found enjoyment in the strength and vivacity of said color.

“They’re just for you,” Yasha answered after a moment of observing Beau’s delight. “To cheer you up.”

Beau looked up, startled, and Yasha felt a quiet moment of fear that she had messed up. She worried that Beau might try to push down her smile out of self-consciousness, but was rewarded with a more bashful grin. Tugging her ankles free of the sucking sand, Beau worked her way closer to Yasha and reached out to squeeze Yasha’s elbow in a gesture of gratitude.

“Thank you, Yash,” Beau murmured. “They’re beautiful.”

“No problem,” Yasha murmured back, glancing down at her fidgeting hands.

They were quiet a while longer before Beau spoke up again.

“Do you want to stay and watch the sunset with me? It’s pretty nice from this part of the beach—and I know you like color, so you should enjoy it.”

Yasha met Beau’s genuine smile with one of her own.

“I’d like that.”

_red tulips (tulipa) – declaration of love_   
_blue violets (viola) – faithfulness; I’ll always be true_   
_[historically the flower Sappho gave her female lover]_

She hates to admit it, but Yasha _agonized_ over this decision for far too long. It had gotten to where she forced herself to swallow her embarrassment so she could recruit assistance from Jester, Veth, and Caduceus. Things went about as well as expected, but the trio had eventually helped Yasha to decide.

Now all that remained was to hope Beau liked it.

Yasha sat on Beau’s bed, perched on the very edge of the mattress and fiddling with the vibrant, voluminous bouquet that Jester had helped put together. The Tiefling had proclaimed that her mother always received extravagant floral arrangements at the Chateau, and therefore she knew the basics of arranging flowers into a stunning array. Given how gorgeous Yasha thought this bundle was, she was inclined to believe Jester.

The bedroom door creaked open and Yasha was on her feet before she even registered moving. She reminded herself to breathe.

Beau blinked with surprise at the sight of Yasha standing in the middle of the bedroom, a half-eaten apple in one hand. Then she seemed to notice the flowers clutched in the Aasimar’s hands. The monk sighed, looking like she was fighting a smile as she shut the door behind her and made her way over to Yasha.

“I was wondering why Veth and Jester were giggling and following me around downstairs. Now I guess I know.” Beau sets the apple down on the table by her bed and faces Yasha, studying her.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Beau asks, coming close enough that she can smooth the waxy, red tulip petals between her fingers. There are a few violets scattered among them, organized carefully by Jester’s dexterous hand, a rich blue that borders on cobalt. Yasha catches Beau eyeing them appreciatively.

“I’m not so good…with words,” Yasha fumbles to begin. She had agonized over her declaration almost as much as she had the flowers. “You know that I like flowers, that they mean a lot to me. I have been letting them do the talking for a while now, so…”

She trails off and passes the bouquet to Beau’s hands. Letting her fingers linger where they cup around the monk’s calloused hands, Yasha focused on keeping them from shaking.

“These are for you, because this is me saying I love you.”

Beau blinks—first at the flowers, then up at Yasha, then back down to the flowers. Yasha can feel Beau’s fingers tighten around the stems bundled together beneath her own hands. The silence stretches and Yasha grows more and more nervous with each passing, thundering beat of her heart.

“You love me?” Beau all but whispers. Her eyes, when they look up at Yasha, are almost as blue as the violets. Those eyes look so vulnerable and hopeful it leaves Yasha breathless.

“I do,” Yasha breathes, afraid to speak any louder for fear of shattering this fragile tension between them.

“Why?”

Yasha doesn’t even hesitate.

“You’ve never judged me for the things I have done, for the person I have become. You have only ever believed in me and have never given up on me. I think you are funny, I think you are smart, clever, and I know you are driven. I admire you, and I’m drawn to how bright you are. I have never seen you give up or stop fighting. You aren’t afraid to ask questions, or find creative ways to get the answers you want when the direct route does not work. I realized that you were always excited to see me come back, but it took me too long to realize why. I hope I’m not too late.”

Beau’s eyes are watering by the end of Yasha’s brief speech. She slowly sets the flowers down on the bed beside them. Her arms wrap around Yasha’s neck in one of the strongest hugs Yasha has ever been on the receiving end of.

Yasha’s arms wind around Beau’s waist before she even has to think about it. The monk’s face presses into the juncture of Yasha’s neck, and Yasha is more than content to tuck her face into Beau’s shoulder.

They stay like that for a few moments that stretch into infinity.

Beau pulls back first, hands sliding against Yasha’s skin so she can frame the Aasimar’s face. Yasha can do nothing but stare back at the woman in her arms, feeling far too many emotions to even begin putting names to them.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Beau says, giving Yasha a moment to process, to reject her. Yasha doesn’t.

Beau’s lips press against Yasha’s, chapped and warm, and Yasha presses into the embrace. She imagined kissing Beau before, but this is nothing like her daydreams. If she is honest with herself, Yasha probably put a little too much of her past experience into those daydreams. She should have known that Beau would kiss the way she fights—just a little reckless and with every ounce of passion in her soul.

They don’t linger long, and before Yasha knows it, Beau is tucked back into her shoulder. She clings to Yasha like she never left the crook of the Aasimar’s neck in the first place.

“Yasha?” Beau’s muffled voice speaks up after a few moments.

“Yeah?” Yasha breathes against Beau’s shoulder, the monk shivering in response.

“I love you, too.”

Yasha doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the week.

_ambrosia (_ _ambrosia artemisiifolia_ _) – your love is reciprocated_

Her book on flowers had been missing for all of a day and a half before Yasha finds it again. Someone had left it neatly atop her pillow; a clump of tall, yellow blooms tied off with string perched on the cover. The buds are small and golden, looking more like flowers that had yet to bloom, but Yasha recognized the plant from her book easily. Most considered it to be a weed, but it was still rather beautiful all the same.

Yasha scooped up the bundle and smiled as she set them carefully down on the table by her bedside. They were a pop of color in her otherwise monotone room, blending in well with the mural Jester had painted for her.

Curious, Yasha flipped to the page she remembered seeing the flower on to look up the meaning.

She went to kiss Beau mere moments later, cheeks pink for most of the afternoon.


	3. queens of queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quick note! this is actually a snippet from a larger piece that i'm working on right now, and i thought i would take this prompt as an opportunity to put a piece of it out in the open. i hope you all enjoy!

“A little higher on your end,” Fjord instructed her, leaning back a little on his perch to get a better idea of how level the sheet was. Beau hiked the material up a couple inches, stretching as much as she could. The half-Orc nodded and set about securing his corner on the wall. Beau pulled the tape she had waiting off the window frame and set about doing the same.

They had already swept the floor of shattered glass, taking extra care to make sure no little shards got missed. Fjord had stacked most of the chairs while Beau had swept, and then they had both pushed the tables away from the front window into some kind of order.

It was…odd.

There wasn’t much in the way of overhead lighting in the bar to begin with. So, paired with the lack of light filtering in from the street and the lessened number of lamps on the table, the bar was just dim. Even during lunch hours when there weren’t drunks packed in, there was light and noise near constantly. This was just eerie—hollow.

“It’s as good as it’s gonna get until the window’s replaced,” Fjord’s heavy sigh pulled Beau back to the present. He hopped off the chair he’d been standing on, watching Beau do the same. The sheet was as secure as they could make it, and it would just have to hold. The window repairmen weren’t coming for another three days. Beau had tried not to curse them out over the phone to make them come sooner.

“Thanks for helping, man,” Beau said, subdued, as she stacked her chair with the rest. “You didn’t have to, but I appreciate the help. I know Molly would, too.”

“Of course,” Fjord situated his chair on another stack, looking restless. “How are you holding up? I know you weren’t here when it happened, and I know how you act with Molly, but they’re still your friend.”

“I’m fine,” Beau said, far too quick to be honest. “Just worried about my job, y’know?”

Fjord gave her such a knowing look that Beau wondered why she was even trying to lie to him.

“Okay, fine,” Beau groused, plopping her ass down on the floor, legs splayed in front of her. “I’m worried about the Peacock. They’re my friend—they’re an _asshole_ , but they gave me a chance when no one else would. Despite…literally everything about me.”

“Molly’s gonna be okay, Beau,” Fjord said firmly, sliding his back down the wall to sit opposite her on the floor. “The doctors said so.”

“I know that!” Beau tossed her hands in the air, sounding exasperated. She was appalling with emotions and feelings, but Fjord was one of the few who understood her even when she didn’t understand herself. “But you _know_ why it’s not that easy to take the doctors at their word.”

“Yeah, I know,” Fjord sighed, running a hand down his face and staring at the ceiling. “But I’ve worried enough that I just want to be hopeful now. I’ve got to trust the doctors know what they’re doing, and will be objective.”

Beau pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself into a ball. She would never tell Molly this, but her job here meant everything. Her place here meant she got to spend time with Molly despite how much she claimed to hate their face; she got to meet Veth, Caduceus, Jester, Caleb. Even though she had met Fjord outside of work, dragging him into this eclectic group with her meant she got to see him outside of their gym trips more. Most important, however, she met Yasha here.

She was insanely worried about Yasha right now. They had gotten a call earlier that afternoon from the police, saying they had identified the attackers from witness reports. Yasha hadn’t seemed to take the news well and pulled one of her vanishing acts not long after Beau had hung up. It was the whole reason Fjord was here.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Fjord’s voice tugged Beau back yet again. A glance up from her cocoon found him standing over her, hand out and that infuriating, understanding look in his eyes. Beau huffed, but let him tug her upright, anyway.

They gathered up their things, made sure the bar was clean and organized for when the repairmen would come through, and then headed for the door. Beau locked up behind them, fingers lingering on the worn wood of the painted door for a moment longer than necessary. She didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she would never be back here again.

Shoving the keys into her coat pocket with a little more force than necessary, Beau turned to Fjord.

“You okay getting home? You can always come with me to the hospital.”

“Nah,” Beau waved him off, feigning nonchalance. “I’ve got some stuff to do for the dojo before tomorrow’s classes. I’m gonna visit Molly tomorrow, anyway. But tell Caleb I said ‘hey’ and force him to go home and take a shower, yeah? I know he’s been there since they admitted Molly.”

Fjord snorted quietly and shook his head. “Yeah…wish me luck. Caleb won’t be easy to convince.”

“Good luck,” Beau called with faux cheer, waving as Fjord headed down the sidewalk towards the bus stop. “And thanks again!”

Fjord waved over his shoulder as he went. Beau chuckled and started down the sidewalk, heading for the dojo. She shoved her hands as deep into her coat pockets as she could and huffed into the chilly night air. Her breath billowed into a puff of visible air before her face. The city had not yet succumbed to the grip of winter, but the autumn chill tasted just a little more bitter than last month.

Glancing up from where she had been focusing on kicking a pebble ahead of her, Beau caught sight of someone trudging her direction. Shoulders going tense on instinct, Beau forced herself to keep her pace. She was faster than most people, and she needed to stop being so detrimentally suspicious of people on first glance. But the incident at the bar had sent her nerves far past being on edge—they were plummeting over the cliff and at terminal velocity.

The figure moved from shadow to the pool of light from the streetlamp, and Beau stumbled to a stop.

Half-light and shadow weren’t helping, but Beau was all too familiar with what fresh bruises looked like on a person—and a bloody nose. She also had intimate familiarity with the lines and slopes of that face. Countless nights sitting across from one another outside a bar did that to people.

Before she thought to call out, Yasha looked up and mismatched eyes caught Beau’s gaze. Her eyes widened, and Beau could see the burst blood vessels surrounding the socket, the bruise a nasty, stark contrast to Yasha’s pale skin.

They were stuck in a standoff for all of four seconds before Yasha turned and bolted the way she had been coming. Beau didn’t even think before her feet were pounding against the pavement after her. As said, Beau was faster than most people, especially a bruised and beaten Yasha. It took her all of a handful of sprinting strides before she caught up.

“Yasha, _wait!_ ” Beau called, her hand shooting out to grab at the other woman’s wrist. She knew that Yasha could easily tug herself free from Beau if she wanted, but Yasha froze in place anyway.

They stayed silent for a second, two—the passing heartbeats felt like they stretched into infinity. Beau’s breath caught in her throat, surprised that Yasha stopped at all. Her words fled in the face of being presented with this opportunity. Yasha’s shoulders pulled almost to her ears, hunched into herself like she might somehow make herself smaller.

Anyone walking past might think them a painting, a snapshot of desperation.

“Just…” Beau’s voice cracked down the middle. She kept speaking anyway. “Just talk to me, Yasha. Tell me what’s going on.”

Yasha said nothing for a long few moments, and Beau would think the other didn’t hear her if they hadn’t been standing a mere foot apart. Beau opened her mouth to repeat herself, perhaps a little more firm, when Yasha’s shoulders hitched.

“I…” her quiet voice strained. She wouldn’t look at Beau. “I can’t.”

“Yasha,” Beau said, her voice much more harsh than intended, but to her credit, Yasha didn’t flinch. “I _saw_ your face. You’ve got a black eye, a bloody nose, and a split lip. I’m pretty sure your knuckles are busted, and with the way your breathing, you’ve probably got some bruised ribs. There is _something_ going on, and you’re in trouble. Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because!” Yasha sobbed, voice raised sharply. Beau stepped back, her grip on the other woman’s wrist loosening. She’s never heard Yasha yell before.

“It’s my fault Molly’s in the hospital.”

The silence hung.

“What,” Beau choked out after what felt like hours. It was not a question, but Yasha answered her anyway.

“Those people the police identified, they were after me. It’s my fault Molly’s hurt because I wasn’t there to protect them. I brought that to the bar…and Molly paid for it.”

Yasha’s voice broke off, devolving into stifled, gut wrenching sobs that left Beau feeling useless. She was absolute shit at comforting people. Yasha confessing to something so ludicrous left her with even less of an idea of where to begin. So she stood there, slowly tightening her grip again on Yasha’s wrist, and hoped it would ground at least one of them.

“You didn’t do that to Molly,” Beau said after opening and closing her mouth a few times. Yasha’s crying got quiet, and Beau realized that she had the other woman’s attention.

“You didn’t ask them to show up, to trash the place and attack Molly for protecting you. Even if you were there, someone would have gotten hurt. It would have been you, probably worse than Molly is. I’m not saying it’s better this way, but as infuriating as they can be, Molly isn’t an idiot. They knew what they were doing, Yasha.”

Her words just made Yasha cry harder. But Yasha turned to Beau, and the latter had to stifle a gasp. She had seen the bruises, the damage, for a moment in half-lighting. But up close, the black and blue patches mixed with drying blood on Yasha’s face were…horrific.

Swallowing her gut reaction to hunt down whoever did this to Yasha and return the favor tenfold, Beau reached out and grabbed onto Yasha’s other wrist. Beau gave her a quick tug before speaking.

“Come back to my place tonight. That way you don’t have to be alone in your apartment. Plus, my medicine cabinet is stocked, I can clean you up.” Beau might have sounded a little desperate with that offer, but she didn’t care all that much at the moment. She just wanted to be able to go to sleep tonight, knowing that Yasha was relatively safe.

It took a moment, but eventually Yasha seemed to deflate with a sigh. Beau’s hands stayed steady in their grip.

“Okay.”


	4. a case of missing horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please do not ask me what this is because i cannot tell you

「i toss and turn, hoping to hear thunder again」

The clouds had been hanging low over the town for almost two days now, humidity building steadily until it was almost uncomfortable. Every time they step outside the inn, Beau could practically feel the moisture clinging to her skin.

It had been a mild, drunken promise weeks ago. Beau asked Yasha if she could see her wings again—because Beau thought they were badass—and Yasha had agreed. The condition, though, was that Yasha wanted to wait until the next storm rolled through. She hadn’t said why, and Beau hadn’t bothered to ask. She had figured a good squall would roll through sooner rather than later, but now they were nearly two months out from that promise and this was the first bout of rain they would be caught in.

Beau wonders if Yasha even remembered their promise.

She shouldn’t have worried though, because Yasha was the one to come collect her at the first distant roll of thunder.

Beau was now sitting at one of the bay windows in the tavern beneath their inn, eyes on the sky. She hadn’t found her perch there to watch the storm roll in, since it had been lingering and threatening for a while now. She was there to keep an eye out for lightning.

Yasha sat down beside her, eyes training on the clouds out the window. Beau looked from the sky to her companion, taking in the Aasimar’s profile. There was always something a little more alive about Yasha’s expression whenever it stormed. Her eyes took on this thrilled sparkle, the lines in her expression smoothed out, and she looked like she was constantly on the cusp of smiling. Beau saw all of that now, tucked into the window seat of the tavern with her.

They stay quiet for a few minutes as the thunder grows progressively louder, the space between flashes and rumbles growing shorter and shorter.

“Are you ready?” Yasha asks, quiet, not looking at Beau.

Beau realizes that Yasha remembers, and she sits up a little straighter through her spine.

“Yeah,” Beau says, breathless.

They stand, and Beau considers that they should let the others know that they’re leaving. But Yasha’s walking out and Beau doesn’t want to get left behind. They aren’t going to be gone that long.

(Probably.)

It hasn’t started raining yet, but the wind rips down the streets and brings the smell of the impending storm with it. Beau ducks against the gale, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Yasha standing tall against it. Her black hair whips around her face, and she looks like a vision in the chaos.

They walk for a while, following the winding streets of the town, to the outskirts, and emerge from the buildings to stand among the fields surrounding. The wheat grass bends and billows with the dip and swell of the wind, a mesmerizing dance. Neither of them focuses on it, Yasha with a one-track mind and Beau a mere spellbound captive. Yasha leads them to a tiny hill in the field, about half a mile out from town, with a towering oak perched on the mound. It looks old; the bark gnarled and roots thick and coiling from the earth.

Beau looks to Yasha and the woman merely looks back at her and says above the storm, “wait.”

They stand for what feels like an endless sprawl of minutes; the storm growing around them was the only indication of time passing. At some point, Beau shivers, and Yasha glances at her for the briefest second. Before she knows what’s happening, Yasha has taken her shawl from her shoulders and is tucking it around Beau, face as impassive as ever. The monk looks up at Yasha, bewildered, but Yasha just fastens the clasp at Beau’s clavicle and turns her face back to the storm. They continue to stand in silence, and eventually Beau grows tired of standing.

Gaze wandering to the oak and the shelter it might provide, Beau tucks up among the roots of the solitary tree. With her back pressed to the bark and Yasha’s shawl wrapped around her shoulders, she finds some relief. The fur is warm and heavy and she’s still shocked that the Aasimar even took it off to begin with. She had a vivid memory of the other woman telling her she never took said garment off. But this feels like an action built on trust, and Beau isn’t about to voice a protest.

Yasha stands just outside the shelter of the stretching boughs and stares at the sky. Beau wonders what she’s waiting for.

Lightning strikes off to their left in the open field, and Beau jumps from proximity. She has barely a second to clap her hands over her ears before the thunder _roars_ around them. She’s left shaking, blue eyes wild as she looks to Yasha. The Aasimar is facing Beau now, and when their eyes meet, she holds a hand out to the monk.

Nervous to leave the shelter of the tree, Beau hesitates only a moment before shoving to her feet. Yasha’s fingers curl around Beau’s hand and it’s a near instantaneous reaction for her to relax, despite not knowing what is going on.

Yasha closes her eyes, takes a breath, and in the next second, lightning flashes in the field again, and there are wings uncurling from Yasha’s back. Beau curls into herself a little, pressing her free hand over her ear as the thunder rolls over them again. It passes a few seconds later, and Beau blinks her eyes open, looks up, and stops breathing.

Standing before her, hand still curled around Beau’s, is Yasha with her eyes closed. Her face looks nervous, a little unsure, even as she doesn’t move at all. The wings perched on her back are…different.

Beau remembers the black, membranous skeletal wings from months ago. She thought they had been pretty badass, had fit with Yasha’s aesthetic and color palette. These are just as massive—but now soft grey and _feathered_. Questions race through her head—when did Yasha’s wings change? Do the others know? Have her wings ever been feathered before? How did this happen?

She doesn’t ask any of them though. The sky opens up. It rains.

Yasha’s wings twitch and curl around them both, shielding them a little from the drizzle that is rapidly starting to pick up. Beau just keeps staring, mouth slightly agape. Yasha hasn’t opened her eyes yet, and Beau has to shake her head a little, remind herself to move, to speak.

Turning her head to look at Yasha’s wings, she reaches out with her free hand, reverent and slow, until her fingers connect with the wing. She hears Yasha inhale, sharp and quiet, and shoots a glance at the Aasimar. Beau finds those beautiful mismatched eyes staring at where the monk’s fingers are brushing over soft grey feathers.

“It was real,” Yasha breathes, and seems almost as shocked as Beau that her wings have changed. Beau wonders about that briefly, but decides it’s a topic for another time.

“They’re beautiful, Yasha,” Beau whispers, eyes turning back to the wing under her touch. The feathers are silkier than anything she’s ever touched and warm despite the chilled wind and rain around them. She drags her fingers over the primaries and feels the appendage twitch with life beneath her fingers, glances over in time to see Yasha blush. The wings hug a little firmer around them, and Beau grins, bright and bold.

“This is amazing! Yasha…your _wings!_ ” Beau laughs loud for Yasha to hear her above the wind, excitement thrumming in her chest. A shy smile works its way onto Yasha’s face, and she squeezes Beau’s hand in her own and nods, seemingly at a loss for words. Beau has a million questions that Yasha probably won’t be able to answer half of, so she holds onto them for now. Now is reserved for reveling in the joy of whatever this moment is, because it feels significant.

The lightning continues to touch down in the field nearby. The thunder continues to roar, the rain picks up and the wind is brutal. Beau’s never loved a storm more in her life.

「your withered wings…begin to feather」


	5. the ache reminds me that there's still a heart tucked in between my lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet bc i wrote this last night after work kicked my ass!!

_She put her hand on Yasha’s shoulder. The Aasimar was quaking under her touch, grief wracking her battered body. Before she could even open her mouth, Beau’s hand was forced to recoil, as skeletal wings took up the space the monk had previously occupied._

_Yasha screamed. She got up and walked away._

_“Yasha—” Fjord and Jester’s simultaneous calls for their friend cut short as Yasha threw up a hand._

_“I’ll find you when I’m ready.” Her voice was barely audible._

_They watched her walk off into the storm, and Beau stayed silent the whole time._

* * *

_“Think about it.” Beau’s voice was watery, but firm in a way that made it sound like she had given up already. Yasha hated it._

_The monk’s nose blushed at the tip, her eyes puffy and red from tears that never stopped falling from the moment they set foot in Kamordah. She wanted to reach out and comfort Beau, wanted to hold her and tell her they can figure out another way. Yasha wanted to tell Beau everything she’s been holding inside her for weeks—perhaps months—now._

_She does not do any of that. Instead, Yasha wished she could turn back time and make a different choice of destination, one that would spare Beau this pain._

_She had a choice laid out before her now, to do just that._

_Yasha walked inside the witch’s hut while the others argue around Beau._

* * *

Yasha never realized before now that she runs away from all of her problems. She had never faced a single one of them head on. Yasha ran away from everything that happened with Zuala; she ran away when the circus was in danger, when Molly died, when Obann took control of her mind (even though the Mighty Nein continuously remind her that wasn’t her fault). Even after she finally stayed, the rest of the Nein gave her enough space to work through her thoughts until she ended up running away from them instead.

The fighting ring was the closest she had gotten to acknowledgement of her issues.

Yasha was tired of running.

She knew it was time to face at least one thing head on.

“Beau?” The monk looked up from her book, perched on the wide windowsill of the study room in their house. Caleb was sitting at the desk, absorbed in his books; he didn’t even look up to acknowledge the intrusion. Fjord was tucked into a corner between the ends of two bookshelves, perusing through some book or other, but looked up long enough to give Yasha a wave before he was back at it. Yasha wasn’t sure what he was reading, but he looked invested.

A look back to Beau found the monk still staring at Yasha expectantly, an eyebrow raised with curiosity. Yasha didn’t think she had enough courage to open her mouth again in the quiet, so she settled for a gesture. Beau seemed to get the cue and stood, marking her page and leaving the book on the sill.

Leading the monk through the hallways, up the stairs to the rooftop garden, Yasha sent a quick thanks to the Storm Lord that Caduceus wasn’t there. It would have been awkward to ask him to leave so she and Beau could speak privately.

Sitting among the roots of Caduceus’ tree, Yasha waited for Beau to sit beside her, and then they stared out over the shadowed city. They both let the silence stretch for a good few minutes, the neighborhood quiet as always when the Mighty Nein were taking a break from cooking up shenanigans.

“You okay, Yash?” Beau asked after they had been sitting for a while, gaze never straying from the city.

“No,” she said. Beau looked to her at that, surprise written on her face before she could hide it. Now or never. “I have not been…I don’t think, for a while. But I would like to try to be.”

“Is…this what you wanted to talk about?” Beau ventured, seeming hesitant. At Yasha’s affirming nod, Beau nodded back and paused before asking, “do you need me to help in any way? I’m not exactly the best at giving advice or comforting people, but I can always listen?”

Lips quirking in a quiet show of amusement and gratitude, Yasha shifted to face Beau a little more.

“That is very kind of you, Beau,” she watched the monk blush at that. “And I will probably take you up on that sometime. But for right now, I want to start trying to be better by um—by facing something I am afraid of. I realized that…I am not very good at that.”

Beau looked like she wanted to say something, but held it back and let Yasha keep talking.

“I am a coward.” Beau almost interrupted her here, but Yasha put up a hand and gave Beau a sad, but grateful twist of her lips. “I know you have said many times, that I am not, that I am a survivor. In a way, you are right…but you are also wrong. I think I am somehow both. Because I survived what happened with Obann…but I have run away from everything else that has happened to me.”

At Beau’s curious look, Yasha searched for a breath to steady herself with and kept going.

“I ran away from what happened to Zuala, and from what happened with the circus and Molly. There are many other things as well, but I noticed that I just…keep running. I don’t want to do that anymore. It is because I keep running that I feel I have nothing, I have no place—even here. I just…I get so scared. I think it is because, the last time I tried to have something good, it was all taken from me. And I do not think—I _know_ —that I cannot survive that again.”

Yasha had been staring at some flowers that Caduceus grew nearby, focusing on their color, the shape and curve of their petals, so she would not have to look at Beau while she spoke. While she laid her heart bare for the monk to observe, analyze. As her words tapered off, though, she peeked sideways and found Beau watching her with intent. Her brows were doing something strange where she looked determined and upset all at once, and Yasha wasn’t sure how to interpret that.

“That’s…” Beau started and immediately trailed off. Her impossibly blue eyes flickered with something too fast for Yasha to catch before she starts again. “I’m proud of you, Yasha. For wanting to try again. We’re all going to be here to support you, you know that right?”

“I do,” Yasha nodded, almost without hesitation. “You have all made that…quite clear.”

There was a bit of amusement in her tone, and it tugged a grin onto Beau’s lips. On anyone else, the grin would look sheepish, but on Beau it looked triumphant.

They lingered in stillness for a while longer. Yasha didn’t personally know the Wild Mother, but the tree at her back felt like an encouraging embrace, offering her strength.

“I’d like to start now,” Yasha said to the inky sky above them. “Facing what scares me.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Beau returned, Yasha more than able to hear the smile in her voice.

“I like you a lot, Beau,” Yasha dove right in. “And I know that I am…difficult to talk to sometimes for many reasons. But I want to talk to you more—to everyone, really—but mostly you. And I just want to…ask that you give me a chance?”

When she turned to Beau, the monk was sitting up straight and looking back at her with wide eyes. She seemed shocked and Yasha felt her stomach twist with apprehension that might be anticipation, but she was never good at telling the difference.

A slow grin spread across Beau’s face, and she reached over to tangle her fingers with Yasha’s. There was a squeeze to Yasha’s calloused hand, before Beau leaned back against the tree once more.

“I’d like that a lot.”

Beau’s voice sung a little like victory, but Yasha knew it was only the beginning. It wasn’t a step forward, because she didn’t want to think of this as going somewhere when she was exactly where she wanted to be. Instead, Yasha pressed a little more into the tree at her back and envisioned roots. She pictured a sapling, wilted and weather-trodden, but alive. The sapling’s roots were little, still more green than brown, but they’re there—and they will grow.

Yasha will grow, and with time and care and a little bit of light, she will heal. And one day, she might even bloom.


	6. i can see everything you are made of / and i promise - you're stunning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh don't mind me, posting these last two prompts about two months late  
> life has been something friends!!! but i hate leaving things unfinished so here are two short ficlets for the last two prompts <3

False lightning flashes with pale vibrancy around Yasha, illuminating her features in stark contrast. Beau watches with quiet awe as the Aasimar’s fingers dance and pluck with more surety than she’s ever seen across the strings of the harp. The sounds that she coaxes from the bony instrument are hallow and soothing, creating a previously unsung melody. For a moment, Beau almost wishes she could sing.

But she watches quietly, observing Yasha in a vulnerable light that she had witnessed once before from a distance. The stretch of beach and accompanying wash of waves were a very different backdrop compared to the silent lightning and reverent hush hanging around them now.

Even further back in their adventures, Beau hadn’t understood what Yasha meant. She had looked Beau in the eye—bashful and quiet—on a night watch and said she saw Beau. It had been a tender moment; something that felt bigger than Beau understood or knew what to do with. The words had lingered for days as Beau puzzled over them.

She hated to give up on figuring out their meaning, but it was something Beau had set aside a while ago in favor of more pressing matters.

Now, she remembers the moment with stunning, jolting clarity.

And completely understands.


	7. (eyes like yours were never made for growing old)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i chose the "soulmates" prompt for the last day. hope you all enjoy!

She’s not sure why it’s raining today, but it is and Beau is disgustingly unprepared. No coat, no umbrella, not even a second layer to hold over her head. The forecast hadn’t called for rain, and it had been so horribly muggy when she left this morning that Beau had gone sleeveless.

Now, though, as she ducks beneath an overhang of a café to catch her breath and take a reprieve from the pelting downpour, she regrets it. Even a flannel to hold would be better than this.

The loose strands of Beau’s hair cling to her cheeks, plastered to her skin while her bun weighs heavy and drenched on her head. She huffs as she shakes out her sneakers, nose scrunching and lips twisting with distaste as water sloshes inside her socks. She’s still four blocks from her apartment. The muted greys, and white and black of the city block are a rather uninspiring backdrop for her sprint home.

Beau is considering ducking back out into the rain when someone ducks under the overhang with her, pace much more leisurely than Beau’s had been. She glances over at them just in time for the newcomer’s shoulder to bump against her own, and suddenly the grey, monochrome rainy day is bleeding with color.

Color has always been a strange concept for Beau, because those who could see it told her this specific shade of grey was blue, and this other one was orange, and that one over there was pink. So she knows which shades of grey are which color—and knows that she’s seeing grey because those who see color now assure her that she’s seeing it. But this tall, broad— _and hot, oh gods so hot—_ woman just bumped into her and now Beau can _see_ blue and orange and pink and every other color in stunning, vibrant contrast.

She sees blue first—a dark, rich eye shadow that has been smeared by the rain but still does the job of highlighting this woman’s heterochromatic irises.

“Wow,” Beau breathes at the same time this woman— _her soulmate, Beau has a soulmate and thank gods it’s a woman—_ gives a quiet little, “oh,” and stares back.

“Hi,” Beau manages after the colors she can now see have finished bleeding and blending outward from her soulmate. “I’m uh…I’m Beau.”

“Yasha,” her soulmate offers. “These colors are very beautiful, you’re very beautiful.”

Beau watches as Yasha’s face flushes pink and she laughs, a little startled and a lot pleased by the comment.

“Thanks,” Beau absently pushes the strands of hair still stuck to her skin from her face, an attempt to look less like a drowned rat. “I like your eyes, they’re really cool. And you’re pretty beautiful yourself.”

Yasha seems pleased by this, and her cheeks get just a little pinker.

“Would you like to get some coffee, Beau?” Yasha gestures to the café at their back, and there are at least two couples inside staring through the window at them knowingly. Beau ignores them resolutely.

“I’d love to.”

Beau knew that she liked blue before she could actually see it, but now that she’s staring at the eye shadow surrounding Yasha’s eyes, she’s certain. It’s her favorite color.


End file.
